Pilgrimage to the sun

The afternoon clinic was temptation
A lost boy walking toward the dusk
walking right in with screaming shoulders
blessed as much as cursed no fussed

The ruby cutting lines of the horizon's clouds
The ushering finger of the god he doesn't know
I see him from the clinic window
making his way like a desperate pilgrim on the road

The doctor says she needs her drill
But all I want to do wish the boy a farewell
Streets dimming down in blues
I'm cured and the doctor is subdued

Boy keeps on trudging near the gutter of the road
that goes directly into the last traces of the sun
neither blessed nor cursed
Just a millennium from greeting unknown god

fascinated by the last rays of that old sun
the one that warmed the clinic through it's huge window
That warmed me, the observer, the spectator
of that helpless soul who makes his way seemingly in vain